Survive the Night
by Maddie
Summary: Episode Missing Scene - Bashir must keep Jadzia alive after her symbiot is removed.


**Author's Note: **This story takes place early in the series, during the episode in which Jadzia's symbiot was forcefully removed and she is dying. This is a "missing scene" from that ep that was originally published in the Orion Press fanzine **OUTPOST 2, **1994**, **edited by Randall Landers. As always the characters of DS9 belong to Paramount but the plot belongs to me. Feedback and constructive criticism always welcome.

A brief summary of the action preceding the story: In the episode, an approaching storm has forced the evacuation of the station leaving only a skeleton staff on board. Taking advantage of the deserted station Verad, a Trill, in the company of mercenary Klingons has slipped on board with the intention of stealing the Symbiot Dax whom Verad believes is rightfully his. Bashir is forced to surgically remove Dax from Jadzia and implant it in Verad. Without Dax, Jadzia is doomed to die.   


**Survive the Night******

by, Maddie 

  
  


Hovering the barest millimeter above the acceptable range, the indicators threatened to dip lower with each passing second. Pulse, respiration, brain activity each wavered, steadied for a few seconds, then fluctuated again. Hardly what one could call stable, Julian Bashir thought. He had spent half the night cajoling life readings out of those sensors, and he stared, bleary eyed, at the multicolored chips of light that mocked his efforts. A pall of helplessness settled over him. There was nothing else he could do, no more miracles he could work. The fact that he had kept her alive this long was, in itself, miraculous. Now, it was up to her. She had to want to live, and he was not sure she did. 

Glancing at his patient, he rubbed his gritty eyes, blinked and watched. She lay motionless, her face waxen, breath barely easing in and out as her chest rose imperceptibly beneath the surgical sheeting he dared not remove. He had to be prepared to act the instant Jadzia's symbiot was returned. There would not be a moment to waste. After all, had he not promised her everything would be all right? Had he not assured her that the surgery had gone well? How laughable. Yes the surgery had been a complete success, for Verad, who now possessed the symbiot Dax. 

But Jadzia was dying, and regardless of who tried to reassure him otherwise, Bashir knew it _was _his fault. Had he refused there would have been no one qualified to perform the procedure and Verad would have been foiled. He, Bashir, was directly responsible for the violation of Jadzia's symbiotic relationship with Dax, and that thought gnawed at him. As the night dragged on and his world narrowed to focus on the sensors flickering above Jadzia's still form, the knowledge that he had placed her in jeopardy insinuated itself into his thoughts. The guilt became more firmly entrenched each time he looked at her, each time the indicators took a fatal dip. 

Standing, he walked to her side, as he had done countless times during the interminable night. Placing two fingers lightly against the side of her neck, he felt her pulse fluttering at his fingertips - weak, erratic, but still a pulse. What was it about feeling that soft beat that was more reassuring that the ultra sensitive instrument readings he knew were more accurate? He felt the slightest swell of hope. She was still alive, so all was not lost. Brushing aside a strand of dark hair, his hand rested a moment against the softness of her cheek. Her skin was icy cool and she did not respond to his touch. 

"Why do you continue to waste your time, little Human?" 

Bashir bristled. He was growing tired of the snide nickname. Despite his exhaustion and concern, he was angered by the Klingon's continued presence in his infirmary. He turned to where Yeto lounged against a computer terminal. A smug look creased the Klingon's face along with the grin that reminded Bashir of a death's head. Yeto seemed as fresh as he had when he and his companions had arrived, how many hours ago? Did Klingons never tire? Bashir had browbeat Yeto into helping him when he needed four hands to stabilize Jadzia, but ever since the warrior had taken great delight in taunting his efforts. 

"I can finish what is left honorably. Then we can move on to more interesting pursuits." The Klingon drew his weapon, a vicious blade designed to wreak maximum havoc with minimum effort. He took two steps closer to where Jadzia lay. "I would make it quick." He mimed a slashing motion across his throat, and laughed, a deep, guttural chuckle. 

Bashir walked around the examining table on which Jadzia lay, placing himself between the Klingon and his patient. His long fingers clenched into fists. He knew damned well he was no match for the massive warrior who continued to advance one slow, deliberate step at a time. Even unarmed, the Klingon outweighed him by kilos. Slight and wiry, Bashir had spent much of his childhood tormented by his peers because of his frailty, until he learned that, though lacking in size, he was gifted with the speed and agility which would often best a larger opponent. Relying on quickness and wit, he had excelled in sports suited to his skills, but the reality of the present situation was, the Klingon could break him without breaking a sweat. 

"You do have spunk, little Human." The Klingon had stopped just out of Bashir's range. 

"And you have no honor," Bashir snapped back, hoping to distract his opponent. He could see the Klingon's face cloud with anger. 

"What would you know of Klingon honor?" 

"Nothing. As I told you earlier, Yeto, I don't give a damn about your warrior ethic. But I do know an honorable warrior would not sneak onto this station like a thief, and hold its unarmed crew hostage to serve...who? You call me 'little Human yet take orders from Verad. I haven't been able to figure that out yet. He's certainly not worthy of commanding a warrior of your obvious prowess." Bashir had slowly stepped to the side, away from Jadzia, hoping the Klingon would follow him. "What's in this for you? Money? I didn't think Klingon honor could be bought so cheaply. But, perhaps, I was wrong. Perhaps, you're no better than a common Ferengi." 

Bashir took one more step to the side. The Klingon had turned toward him, his face a darkening cloud. There was a low, feline rumble in his throat. Bashir continued to back slowly away, baiting Yeto, luring him away from Jadzia. If they jostled against her, the delicate life he had coaxed into her might easily be lost. He looked past Yeto to where Jadzia lay and in that split second of inattention lost his edge. Yeto closed the gap between them with blinding speed, lashing out backhanded. Bashir dodged, but not quickly enough. Yeto's gloved hand caught him a glancing blow across the face that felt like the kick from a power hammer. Bashir stumbled backward, off balance, and unable to avoid the booted foot that caught him in the ribs, crushing the air out of his lungs and knocking him to the deck. As he fell, he rolled, but the Klingon dropped atop him, his weight pinning Bashir face down on the plated deck. Twisting his hand into Bashir's hair, Yeto jerked his head backward his arm encircling the Human's throat, arching his back against the Klingon's knee. 

"I could break your back, little Human, with no effort. But that would be too easy." 

Bashir felt Yeto's breath hot on his neck, felt his spine strain. A few more centimeters, a snap of Yeto's arm, would end him and the other life that depended upon him. Bashir stopped struggling. 

"You annoy me, little Human," Yeto laughed, "but you also amuse me. I wouldn't want to hurt you. At least not fatally. Not _yet. _So I suggest you watch your tongue." 

Bashir's breath came in short sharp gasps. His ribs ached where the Klingon's boot had caught him. Long seconds passed in a wordless tug of wills. Then a plaintive bleep from the panel over Jadzia's head made Bashir's blood freeze. He tried to break Yeto's grip, but he could not budge the Klingon. 

"You've got to let me go," Bashir said. The warning from the medical sensors became more insistent. 

"Why?" growled Yeto. "So you can continue to hover over your patient? You'll only buy her a few more minutes. She's going to die, Human. Why not let her die?" 

"Because that goes against _my _ethic, which _you _would never understand." 

"I could make you beg." Yeto laughed, tightening his hold. Bashir could barely breath, the bleep rose to a demanding wail. He heard Jadzia gasp, the air rattling in her throat. "Fool." Yeto spat his contempt. In an instant, he had released his grip and bodily lifted Bashir to his feet. Spinning the young Human around, he held him by the front of his uniform so that their faces were bare centimeters apart. "Go tend to her. But do not look to me for help." 

Bashir did not need a tricorder to tell him what was wrong. Jadzia's blue lips and gasping breath told him everything. He quickly injected tri-oxy-adenine and waited, willing her to breathe. "Come on, Jadzia, I'm not going to let you go yet." The blood pounded in his own temples and he felt his hands trembling as excess adrenaline expended itself in useless tremors. Finally, Jadzia began to breathe in short shallow gasps, her eyelids fluttered open, her eyes glazed. 

"That's a girl," Bashir said softly. "Breathe. Slowly and deeply. One breath at a time." He again felt for the phantom pulse in her throat. As he spoke, she struggled to focus on his face. She looked confused, then concerned. Her hand touched his mouth, and when she pulled it away, her fingertips were red with blood. Only then did Bashir realized he'd cut his lip in the tussle with Yeto. Quickly, he wiped the blood from his face, but Jadzia continued to stare at her hand. 

"I didn't want anyone else to be hurt," she said, her voice raspy and disoriented. Drawing a deep breath, she was racked by a shuddering sob. "Julian, I didn't want anyone else to be hurt." 

Bashir saw the tears forming. Jadzia was lost, vulnerable, not the cool efficient Dax they all knew. 

Not even the equally capable woman he knew Jadzia must have been before their joining. This 

Jadzia was alone and terribly frightened. 

"I'm all right." Bashir took her hand and gently cleaned away the blood. "It's nothing, really." 

"Not nearly enough blood to cause concern," injected Yeto. 

Bashir looked over his shoulder to where the Klingon stood, playing once again with the blade. He was not sure Jadzia had heard Yeto's comment, or even knew the Klingon was present, but a shadow of emotion played across her face. It looked like anger and, Bashir hoped, a flash of fight. She would need more than a flash if she were going to survive the night. Jadzia's eyes closed, her fingers clasped his convulsively and she shivered. Wrapping his own fingers around hers, Bashir spoke softly reassuringly, until the trembling stopped. She lay so still, Bashir thought, for an instant she might have died, but a quick glance at his indicators told him what he already knew. She was hanging on. Her vital signs were no better, but no worse either. 

"I'm sorry, Julian," she whispered. 

He had to lean very close to hear what she said. "You have nothing to apologize for. What happened was not your fault." 

Bashir felt again a wave of guilt. "I should apologize to you. I should have found a way to resist. Refused to perform the surgery. Refused to remove Dax and transfer it to...to Verad." 

Jadzia looked confused, her vacant eyes slowly focusing on his face. "That's not what I mean. You did what I asked because you are a good friend." 

"A good friend." Bashir heard the contempt in his own voice. 

"Yes," Jadzia whispered. "More than a friend." 

Bashir waited silently, stroking her velvet cheek with the back of his hand. He dared not encourage her to expend precious energy talking. He could only listen if she chose to do so. She closed her eyes, resting, then took a deep gasp of air and looked at him. This time, her eyes focused easily, more alert than she had been in hours. 

"That wasn't what I meant," she said again. "I meant I was sorry I couldn't be what you wanted." 

"N.. nonsense," Bashir stammered, taken aback by her statement. "You've been a wonderful friend."

"That's not what I mean," she said, agitation causing her voice to rise. "You want more. I can't. But--" 

"No," Bashir whispered. "Don't say anything else." _Don't say anything you'll regret later, _he thought. _Don't ruin _a _delightful fantasy with false hope._

"I will," Jadzia continued, her voice so soft it was barely audible. "I want you to know because I may never tell you again. Part of me, the Jadzia part, finds you very attractive. I'm flattered by your attentions--the flirtation." Jadzia fell silent, her eyes liquid with tears. "But Dax isn't. He still thinks like an old man. It's been a long time since he's been a young woman." 

"That's enough," Bashir said firmly, his face flushing with embarrassment. Jadzia was his patient now and _his _ethics told him it was not proper to play with the emotions of a patient, regardless of how one felt on a day-to-day basis. Jadzia was not herself. 

"Listen to me, Julian," she said firmly. "I understand, and in his way, so does Dax." Suddenly Jadzia sobbed. "I miss him." 

"You'll have him back. I swear," Bashir said, then realized she had drifted. He sat for several minutes waiting to see if she would awaken again, but only the soft electronic hum of his instruments broke the silence. She was asleep and would sleep the rest of the night. He adjusted the delta wave inducer on her forehead, assuring that her sleep would be deep and, hopefully, free of nightmares. 

**** 

Hours later, Julian Bashir sat, his hands cupped over a steaming cup of Tarkhalian tea, capturing the fragrance. The plasma disturbance had ended, leaving D59 structurally intact. The evacuees were scheduled to begin returning in less than one hour. 

The doctor tried to clear his mind of the events of the last twenty-four hours. After Verad's death, Mareel and her Klingon companions had been confined to Odo's security facility. Dax had been returned to Jadzia and both Dax and O'Brien felt sufficiently well to be released from the infirmary. All appeared to be peaceful. Bashir had gratefully retired to his quarters, but although he was bone weary, he found himself tossing and far from sleep. Dressing, he had gone first to the infirmary, now deserted and quiet. Wandering the dim, silent corridors of the huge space station, he eventually came to the Promenade. Passing Garak's locked shop and Quark's uncharacteristically hushed casino, he had settled at the deserted replimat, hoping the walk and a hot cup of herbal tea would relax him sufficiently that he could sleep a few hours before reporting for his duty shift. Closing his eyes, he marveled at the absolute silence. Activity on the Promenade was often slow, but rarely ceased, and the stillness now fascinated him as the violence of the storm had yesterday. 

"It's hard to imagine that there were ever people here." 

Startled, Bashir jumped to his feet. "Jadzia," he blurted, "you were supposed to remain in your quarters and rest." He felt uncomfortable as Jadzia Dax scrutinized him, her face once again serene and implacable. 

"I seem to have had a good night's sleep," she said. "All things considered. You, on the other hand, look as though _you _could use some rest." 

Bashir ran his hand through his hair, wondering if he had remembered to comb it before leaving his quarters. He did remember how he had looked, with dark circles under his eyes, disheveled and dreary. 

"Please, sit down, Julian." Jadzia indicated the seat he had so abruptly vacated. "I didn't mean to disturb you. If you don't mind, I will join you. Raktajino?" she asked, indicating the liquid in his rapidly cooling cup.

"Tarkhalian tea." 

"That sounds good." She walked to the replicator, filled her order, then returned and sat with him. 

As he watched her, Bashir wondered how much of last night's conversation she recalled. _Precious little, _he hoped. 

"I wanted to thank you," Jadzia said after a long pause.

"I--"

Jadzia raised her hand, indicating she did not want him to speak yet. "I wanted to thank you for making me live."

"Any good doctor-

"I don't mean the medical aspects, Julian," she interrupted. "When Dax was gone. When I felt the loneliness. I wanted to die."

Bashir studied his tea with inordinate interest. It appeared she would remember everything. 

"You gave me a reason not to." Jadzia reached across the table and placed her hand on his arm. "You mean something special to the Jadzia part of us. The memory of that, gave me something to live for." 

"But, I'm responsible--" Bashir began softly. 

"For nothing," Jadzia silenced him before he could continue. "Except saving my life. By biding your time and acting when necessary." 

Bashir could feel the blood rising in his cheeks, honored, yet embarrassed by her candor. 

"I understand," Jadzia said casually, "that because of your actions, there is a Klingon in security complaining bitterly about a headache and cursing some 'little Human'." 

"Yeto," Bashir said, "provided a certain incentive to keep you alive. Not that any was necessary." Bashir leaned back in is seat. He realized he was very drowsy and was having difficulty keeping his mind on the conversation. "I shot him with enough sedative to give an elephant an overhang... um, I mean a hangover." 

"Julian," Jadzia spoke with a hint of sly amusement. "I believe you're beginning to babble."

"Nonsense." 

"You should try to get some sleep," Jadzia continued. 

"Would you care to tuck me in?" Bashir mumbled half-heartedly unable to stifle a yawn.

"Finish your tea, Julian."   
  
  


the end 


End file.
